


Together (With You)

by Potrix



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Developing James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Developing Relationship, Established James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Established Relationship, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Denial, Self-Discovery, Steve Rogers Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-29 10:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7680355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/pseuds/Potrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laughing, Tony leans forward, and Steve’s eyes grow wide as Tony licks the icing away from Bucky’s cheek. And Bucky doesn’t seem bothered, rather the opposite, in fact; he hums, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, and when Tony pulls back he follows. He kisses Tony’s nose two, three times until most of the icing is gone, then kisses the corners of Tony’s eyes, his forehead, and, finally, presses their lips together. Tony sighs into the kiss, opening up immediately, his hands settling on Bucky’s hips while Bucky cups Tony’s face, thumbs brushing back and forth over Tony’s cheeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together (With You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MegaraNoelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegaraNoelle/gifts).



> A gift for [MegaraNoelle](http://megaranoelle.tumblr.com/), the second of the three winners of my 1000 Followers Fic Giveaway. 
> 
> I made a few changes to your prompt since it was very similar to [another story of mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4664493), but they're minor, and I hope you'll be able to enjoy this nonetheless.
> 
> Happy reading, everyone!
> 
>  **Aug-10-16:** Added all the pairings now after people asked why Stony/Stucky wasn't listed. Also changed the posting date to make it appear again if people search via those pairings. So if the story looks familiar, that's why.

“Hey, man,” Sam says, threateningly wielding his barbeque tongs at Steve. “You ate a dozen of them, you’re going to get more. Get your lazy ass in gear, Cap.”

Steve, in protest, opens his mouth so Sam has a prime view of the half-chewed remains of hot dog number thirteen, grinning smugly at the disgusted face Sam pulls. He does get up, though, stepping over his deck chair to accept the empty plate from Sam. “Anything else?”

“More sangria!” Natasha yells from the pool where she’s relaxing on her pizza floaty. She gives her half empty drink a pointed sip, which everyone else takes as permission to add their own orders.

“Oh, sure, make the birthday boy do all the work,” Steve gripes good-naturedly, laughing, and ducking the flip flop Clint chucks at him in reply. 

He’s whistling to himself—Tony’s been playing _Star Spangled Man_ non-stop leading up to the big day, and at this rate, Steve’s never going to get it out of his head—as he slides open the door to the penthouse. He gives Lucky, who’d retreated into the cool indoors after Sam refused to feed him people food, a quick pat on the head, before making his way towards the kitchen, but stops at the sight of Bucky and Tony, watching them with a happy little smile. 

They hadn’t gotten off to a good start, initially; Tony had been struggling with separating Bucky from the Winter Soldier, and Bucky’d been drowning in his guilt, both of which had been understandable, but not the best basis for a friendship. They’d always been civil, but hadn’t gone out of their way to spend time together without part of the team present. Or, at least, that had been the case until a couple of weeks ago, when Steve’d found the two of them sitting outside Bucky’s room in the middle of the night, drunk as skunks, trying—and mostly failing—to whisper, and snickering while shushing each other. Steve had put Bucky to bed, deposited Tony on the couch, and assumed that to be it, only to be surprised when they’d shown up to breakfast together the next morning, incredibly hungover, but thick as thieves. 

Now, the two of them are practically attached at the hip, never far from the other when their schedules—with Tony’s work for SI and Avengers duties, and Bucky’s therapy sessions and college classes—match up. Like at the moment, with Tony perched on the counter next to where Bucky’s stirring a bowl of bright blue icing, kicking his legs, and dipping his fingers into the white and red icing whenever he thinks Bucky isn’t looking. Bucky’s clearly indulging him, nudging one of the bowls closer to Tony without Tony noticing, and only batting Tony’s hand away every other turn. 

“You’re gonna make yourself sick before I even finish these,” Bucky warns, mildly chiding, placing his whisk in the sink, and pulling the tray of cupcakes closer. He nods at the cupboard right above Tony, and adds, “Least make yourself useful, and hand me the sprinkles.” 

Tony makes a dismissive noise, and, instead of doing as told, scoops up another bit of icing, and smears it across Bucky’s cheek, grinning mischievously. “Said I’d help with the decorating.” 

Bucky scowls, though the corners of his mouth are twitching, and he can only hold the expression for all of five seconds before he’s smirking, and pounces. Tony squawks, flailing his arms, but before he can slide off the counter, Bucky’s standing between his legs, and has an arm locked around his waist. “You’re a menace,” Bucky grumbles good-naturedly, and swipes a finger through the red icing, then wipes it off on Tony’s nose. “‘S a good look on you. Your favourite colour, too.” 

Laughing, Tony leans forward, and Steve’s eyes grow wide as Tony licks the blue mess away from Bucky’s cheek. And Bucky doesn’t seem bothered, rather the opposite, in fact; he hums, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, and when Tony pulls back he follows. He kisses Tony’s nose two, three times until most of the icing is gone, then kisses the corners of Tony’s eyes, his forehead, and, finally, presses their lips together. Tony sighs into the kiss, opening up immediately, his hands settling on Bucky’s hips while Bucky cups Tony’s face, thumbs brushing back and forth over Tony’s cheeks. 

They fit together easily, comfortably, this clearly not the first time they’re doing this. Steve heart clenches painfully, his stomach flipping, but he can’t bring himself to look away, caught up in a sudden rush of memories. Bucky, at twenty, terrified as he’d confessed to Steve, but still so much braver than Steve, who’d pushed his own feelings down, too much of a coward to say yes to Bucky. Tony’s mouth, hovering over Steve’s, a hesitating, hopeful question Steve’d answered with a lie, by shaking his head, because he’s Captain America, he can’t—he can’t be _that_. The shame, every time his gaze lingers on Bucky’s strong thighs, or Tony’s clever hands, or a stranger’s bare chest for a moment too long. The shame of being ashamed, the hypocrisy of supporting equal rights for everyone but himself, the fear of not being good enough, of everything he’s fought for his entire life being taken away from him if he missteps, despite knowing how views, even laws have changed, that it’s not like that anymore—

Steve isn’t aware of having made any noise, but he must have, because Bucky and Tony break apart—not hurriedly, though, not like they’re doing something wrong, because they aren’t, they’re not—and turn to look at him. Tony’s cheeks are pink, and he groans, burying his face in Bucky’s neck, his shoulders shaking with embarrassed laughter. Bucky throws Steve a sheepish, lopsided smile, but doesn’t move away from Tony, one hand high up on Tony’s thigh, and the fingers of the other scratching through the hair on the back of Tony’s head. 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Bucky croaks, voice hoarse. He chuckles, and clears his throat. “Guess that’s one way of droppin’ the bomb, huh?” 

“Apparently,” Tony pipes up, pouting up at Bucky, “all my big reveal ideas are too flashy, too kinky, or too expensive. Or, you know, all of those.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, but manages to make it look fond. He kisses the top of Tony’s head, eyes still on Steve. “We woulda told ya, Stevie,” he says, giving an apologetic, one-shouldered shrug. “But we wanted to enjoy this in peace, at least for a while.” 

Steve nods numbly, but it must look off, somehow, because it makes Bucky frown, concerned, and Tony ask, tentative, “Cap? You okay?” 

The Avengers alarm saves Steve from having to come up with a convincing answer. Instead, he smiles tightly, and excuses himself to go get his gear.

Feeling guilty. Ashamed. Like a coward.

* * * * *

Everything goes wrong right from the beginning. They arrive at the scene to find it crawling with Doombots, and not the relatively easy to break ones either; these have been upgraded, with harder to crack armour, twice as many weapons, and a self-repair algorithm. 

It takes the team the entire afternoon, and the better part of the evening to get the situation under control, and by then they’re all exhausted, and more than ready to call it a day. Distracted, Steve will think later, when it’s too late. They’re rounding up the last of the bots when two of them suddenly freeze mid-fight, and their eyes start to glow red. Unsurprisingly, it’s Iron Man who works out what’s going on first. 

“They’re self-destructing!” he yells over the comms, and sure enough, all twelve of the remaining bots are heating up, trembling with barely suppressed energy. “Take them out before they’re fully charged!” 

The Hulk roars his understanding, snatching up six of the bots, three in each massive arm, and jumps off towards the less crowded industrial area, Falcon hot on his heels. Hawkeye manages to incapacitate two from his perch on a nearby balcony, and the Widow has her legs wrapped around the neck of another a moment later. Steve takes the head clear off the one closest to him with his shield, but that still leaves the two scaling the office building half a block away. 

Steve knows there’s no chance in hell he’s going to reach them in time, but he’s running anyway, because he has to try. He stumbles to a stop at the foot of the building, squinting up at the bots, but before he can make a decision, Iron Man swoops in low, grabs the angrily screeching bots, and soars up into the sky again. 

“Iron Man!” Steve barks sharply, and, when he doesn’t get a reply, adds a softer, “Tony. Talk to me.” 

There’s a long, tense pause where all Steve can hear is Tony’s laboured breathing. Then, “I can’t shut them down.” 

“Drop them,” Steve says, watching the red and gold streak of the Iron Man armour rise higher and higher. “Tony, drop them. Over the river. The harbour’s been evacuated, there’s no one on those boats, you can—”

“Not enough time,” Tony interrupts, gentle and soothing, as if Steve’s the one who needs to be comforted right now. “I have ten, maybe fifteen seconds until—”

The bots explode with an ear-shattering boom Steve can feel right down to his bones, and all he can do is watch as Iron Man is hurled away, falling, and gaining speed. 

Steve is dimly aware of screaming while Tony plummets back to earth, shoving debris and clutter out of his way as he hurries to where Tony is hurtling closer and closer to the ground. The team is frantic over the comms, so Steve rips out his earpiece, throwing it away carelessly, all his attention on Tony, who hits the ground with a sickening crunch. 

“Tony!” Steve cries, dropping to his knees next to the too still suit a moment later. The reactor—thankfully only powering the armour, and not responsible for keeping Tony’s heart beating anymore—is dark, the casing cracked. The rest of the suit is covered in scratches and tears, but looks more or less intact otherwise. 

When Steve’s shaking fingers finally find the release for the faceplate, and pull it away, Tony blinks up at him, slow and sluggish, but conscious. “Hey, Cap,” he slurs, teeth covered in blood when he smiles up at Steve. “We won.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, relieved beyond measure, and then he’s laughing, a definite hysterical edge to it. He gently removes the rest of Tony’s helmet, smoothing back Tony’s dirty, sweat-soaked hair. “We did. We did it, Shellhead.”

“Yay,” Tony cheers weakly, coughs, and winces. “Ow.” 

There’s a deep gash running along Tony’s hairline, and a bruise already forming around his eye, but he’s here, wheezing and hurt, but _alive_. Breathing. Beautiful. Before Steve can question himself, he leans in, one hand cradling Tony’s cheek, and brings their lips together. It’s chaste, soft and sweet, and doesn’t last longer than a couple of seconds before the medics arrive, understandingly but insistently asking Steve to step back so they can tend to Tony. Tony, whose eyes are wide, and stay locked on Steve’s face while he’s pried out of his armour, and strapped to a stretcher, right up until he’s loaded into an ambulance, and the doors are thrown shut behind him. 

* * * * *

Steve can’t look at Bucky, mostly because he’s afraid of what he’ll see. So he watches Tony, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the occasional fluttering of his lids, reassuring himself over and over again that Tony’s going to be fine. That he’ll wake up. Soon, the doctors had said, although unsure when exactly. 

A dislocated shoulder, four cracked ribs, a broken arm, various scrapes and bruises, and a bad concussion. Nothing major, nothing life-threatening, all things Tony is going to recover from, in time. Steve has been repeating that to himself, like a mantra, for the last four hours, to little avail; someone he cares about, one of his best friends, got injured under his command, has needed surgery, and Steve will always feel responsible for that. For his team. His family. 

Tony’s fingers twitch, and Steve aches to reach out, touch them, but it wouldn’t be appropriate. Not with Bucky sitting on the other side of Tony’s bed, holding Tony’s other hand between both of his, lips pressed to Tony’s bruised knuckles. Steve’s done enough damage already. 

The kiss—Steve’s lapse of judgement, his moment of weakness—is all over the news, and people are speculating, gossiping, providing ‘evidence’ that is none, and Steve hates it. Hates the way some people are tearing into Tony, picking him to pieces, hates the invasive queries he knows Pepper and the PR team have to fend off, but, most of all, hates what all of it must be doing to Bucky. To stand on the outside while everyone talks about his best guy with another man, while people condemn or celebrate a relationship that doesn’t exist, unable to correct them without escalating the situation further. 

“You’re in love with him.” 

Steve startles at the sound of Bucky’s voice, and finally looks up at Bucky, only to wish he hadn’t; Bucky’s a mess, his eyes swollen and red-rimmed, strands of loose hair hanging into his face, and his jaw clenched tightly against the tremors in his bottom lip. “Buck,” Steve starts, but trails off when Bucky holds up a hand, and gives a jerky shake of his head. 

“Wasn’t a question. I mean,” Bucky laughs, bitter and strained, “I get it. ‘Course I do, I fell for him too, after all. I just,” he takes a shuddering breath, and rubs a trembling hand over his face before meeting Steve’s eyes again, not looking angry, like Steve expects, but betrayed. “I just can’t figure out why you’d do this. You coulda had him, Steve, all you had to do was snap your fingers, and he woulda been yours. You were his first crush, did you know that? His goddamned hero. But you waited, Steve. You waited for him to move on, and for me to fall in love with him before you decided now was the right time to act. Who does that? Who fuckin’ does that, Steve?”

That effectively renders Steve speechless, even though he wants to deny it, all of it. But—but it’s true, isn’t it? Not intentional, not really, but true nonetheless. Tony had offered himself to Steve, and Steve had shot him down, only to charge back in at the worst possible moment. It’s not solely about Tony, though, despite how it looks right now. “Bucky, it’s—”

Bucky shakes his head again, more insistently. “Shut up.”

“Bucky, please, let me—”

“Shut up!” Bucky roars, but his fury vanishes as quickly as it had appeared when one of the monitors starts beeping loudly, indicating Tony’s racing pulse. Bucky makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat, shooting out of his chair to bend over Tony, cautiously touching the tips of his fingers to one pale cheek. “‘M sorry, sweetheart, everything’s fine. I‘m right here, I’ve got you. You’re goin’ to be okay, Tony, you’re goin’ to be okay.”

A doctor and several nurses hurry into the room a moment later, and Steve moves away to Bucky’s side of the bed to let them work, hovering awkwardly at Bucky’s side. “What can I do?”

“You can get out,” Bucky hisses, only sparing Steve a quick, cold glance before focusing back on Tony. 

Steve swallows back a pang of hurt at the harsh dismissal; it’s not as if he doesn’t deserve Bucky’s ire. “Buck, please, tell me what I can—”

“Get out, Steve,” Bucky repeats, quiet now, almost pleading. “Just go.”

And that—Bucky’s exhaustion, the way he’s obviously barely holding it together anymore—is what makes Steve nod, and take a few steps back towards the door. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do, Buck, okay?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. Steve hunches his shoulders, and ignores the pitying looks of the nurses as he leaves. When the elevator stops on his and Bucky’s floor, Steve can’t bring himself to get out. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at his feet, and tries to collect himself, but eventually the elevator starts moving again, and when the doors open a second time, Sam is already waiting. He takes one look at Steve, opens his arms, and Steve practically crashes into him, holding on tightly. 

Sam doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer any platitudes, just hugs Steve back, and rubs his back while Steve cries. 

* * * * *

The air is pleasantly cool at this time of night, a nice contrast to the sweltering hot summer days. Steve watches the city shimmer and twinkle below him, legs dangling over the edge of Sam’s little landing pad, and tips his head into the soft breeze, eyes fluttering shut. He takes a long drag of his joint, holding the bittersweet smoke in his lungs for several seconds before breathing out again. 

He senses someone stepping out onto the pad next to him, but doesn’t open his eyes until he hears Tony’s amused, “That’s a nasty habit there, Cap.” 

Surprised, Steve blinks up at Tony, automatically taking stock of his injuries after a week of not seeing him. He’s barefoot, wearing loose sweatpants, and one of his black tanks, hair an artfully tousled mess. The wound on his forehead is healing nicely, no inflammation around the stitches, and Steve can just see the bandages supporting his ribs peeking out from under the bottom of his shirt. His broken arm is in a sling, secured against his chest, but he holds out his free hand, pointer and middle finger spread apart. 

“Should you be doing that?” Steve asks, but nevertheless hands over the joint. 

Tony brings it up to his lips, and takes a pull. “Probably not,” he allows with a grin, and a cheeky wink. “But you shouldn’t be brooding out here either, yet here we are.” 

“I’m not brooding,” Steve mutters, stubbornly turning to look back at the city. “And that doesn’t even make sense.” 

Tony hums noncommittally, blowing out another plume of smoke. “We’re not angry, you know that, right? Well,” he corrects himself, “Bucky thought he was, but I think he was more scared than anything else.” 

Steve fiddles with the string of his shorts, and wiggles his toes. “‘Course he was scared, you were hurt. I get it.”

“I don’t think you do,” Tony disagrees. He nudges Steve’s shoulder, and Steve takes the joint again for the last couple of drags. “Yes, he was worried about me, but what terrified him was the thought of me leaving him. For you.”

Steve’s head snaps up sharply. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“And Bucky knows that, too,” Tony says, the smile he shoots down at Steve gentle, understanding. “Logically, he did know. But it’s difficult to not get at least a little freaked out when your boyfriend is kissed by Captain America for all the world to see.” 

Mouth twisting, Steve averts his eyes again, feeling a blush creep up the back of his neck. “Not my proudest moment,” he admits, rubbing at his forehead. He swallows against the lump in his throat, floundering helplessly while he tries to find the right words to explain. “I just—I saw you and Buck, earlier that day. Together. And you looked—you looked good. Happy. And it hit me hard, seeing that, because it’s—it’s not something I’d ever allowed myself to have. To feel. You know that first hand. But then I watched you fall, and there was so much blood, and I thought—I thought what if I never get to have that? With—with you, or Buck, or—or anyone. And then my brain did its thing, and you were there for the consequences.”

Tony is silent for several minutes, absorbing Steve’s confession while Steve feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest. He’s never told anyone any of this, however convoluted it’s come out now. 

“You have no idea how jealous I was when you brought him here,” Tony continues, fingers finding their way to the back of Steve’s neck, then staying there, just touching. “I was convinced you were hung up on him, that he was the reason why you rejected me. But it turned out you’d done the same thing to him, way back when in dark ages. Funny, that.”

“I don’t see how,” Steve grumbles, then yelps, and scowls up at Tony when Tony flicks his ear. 

“No one says you have to become some sort of LGBT spokesperson, Steve. You can take this one step at a time, at your own pace. Whatever you’re comfortable with. Having their own superhero themed float at Pride isn’t for everyone.”

Steve huffs out a laugh at that. “I saw a video of that.” 

“Fury loved it.” Tony grins, but the expression softens after a moment, turning into something more serious. “We just want you to be happy, Steve.” 

Steve smiles back, albeit sadly. “Missed my chance for that, I think. Twice.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” is Tony’s enigmatic answer, his eyes sparkling mischievously. Before Steve can ask, though, Tony goes on with, “C’mon, Capsicle, I’m tired, hungry, and a little bit stoned. Help weak old me back upstairs.” 

“Fine,” Steve sighs exaggeratedly, all feigned annoyance. He stubs out the joint, and gets up, offering his arm to Tony. “Shall we?” 

“Why, Captain Rogers,” Tony gasps teasingly, and links his arm through Steve’s. Once in the elevator, he leans his head against Steve’s shoulder, and links their fingers together, giving Steve’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s going to be all right, Steve, you’ll see.” 

Somehow, Steve doubts that, especially when they walk out into Tony’s penthouse, and are greeted by Bucky. Steve, blushing even harder, goes to untangle himself from Tony, but Tony, instead of letting go, tightens his hold on Steve, and promises, again, “It’s going to be fine. Isn’t that right, honey?”

The last part is directed at Bucky, who’s smiling almost shyly at them after glancing down at their hands, but nods as he comes closer to kiss Tony hello, only to reel back, and arch an eyebrow at him. “‘M pretty sure you’re not s’pposed to smoke weed while you’re on pain meds.” 

“Stopped taking them yesterday morning,” Tony says dismissively, “they were making me fuzzy.”

“I’ll tell Doctor Cho, don’t think I won’t,” Bucky threatens, but kisses him again, lingering. “Dumbass. And you coulda shared with me, at least.” 

One hand resting carefully on Tony’s chest, Bucky turns his attention to Steve. “And you.” His other hand comes up to grab Steve’s chin. “You need’ta use your words, punk,” he says, and leans in to peck the corner of Steve’s mouth. Steve freezes, wide-eyed, and Bucky pulls back, nervously licking at the corner of his mouth. “Was that—”

Steve cuts him off by closing the distance between them again, clumsily bumping their noses together before they find the right angle. “It was good,” he mumbles, “really good.” 

Bucky is smiling even wider when they pull apart, and reaches out to brush his thumb across Steve’s bottom lip. “Good. Yeah, good.” 

“But.” Steve hesitates, glancing back over at Tony. “I don’t—how are we—what does—what does this mean? What do you—”

“We’ll figure it out,” Bucky says, and presses in closer so he can tuck his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, hand settling on Steve’s waist. 

“Together,” Tony adds with a kiss to the underside of Steve’s jaw. “And with some more of Sam’s good stash, probably, let’s be real here. We’re all pretty terrible at this.”

Bucky snorts, Steve hides a laugh away in his hair, and Tony beams back at them both, clearly pleased with himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out my other [work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Potrix/works), or come over and say hi on [tumblr](http://potrix-the-queerschlaeger.tumblr.com/).


End file.
